Short Stories from the Transformers Universe
by Wadin Ann Killum
Summary: Just what it says, random short stories from different eras/continuities.
1. Drift

"Drift"

**Continuity- **A generic G1 continuity, wherever you'd like.

* * *

_I am many things. _

_I am a healer and I am a killer._

_I am determined, wholly driven to do my job, fulfill my duty…and yet, I could honestly care less._

_I want everyone to do better, I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them and tell them to stop giving half of themselves and just give their all. _

_No, that isn't true- I want them to tone it down, I want them to relax, to not worry about every little detail, I want…to…_

_I don't know what I want._

_

* * *

_

"**DEFENSOR!" **screamed Prowl. "What are you _doing?"_

"Stupid gestalt confused! Not need him anyway. Got **DINOBOTS**!"

Grimlock answered Prowl's question and charged forth with a battle cry. Predictably, his four subordinates emulated their commander's action with gusto and soon five bulky Autobots, all primarily gray in color, were leaping into the fray. Prowl sighed, a reaction so commonplace to him now that it felt almost like a cliché.

Across the field of battle, the Stunticons formed-up around Motormaster and a scant ten seconds later, the terrifying visage of Menasor loomed over the combat zone.

Normally Prowl would have felt reassured knowing Defensor was on the scene. But at the moment, the amalgamation of the five Protectobots seemed like a helpless human child- cowed, stymied, halted in his tracks by a reason or reasons unknown.

A bit of occasional sluggishness was common, certainly expected in most combiners, but Defensor usually didn't display the handicaps that plagued his fellow Autobot gestalt Superion and the Decepticons' Devastator, Bruticus, and Menasor.

No, something was definitely amiss today, and Prowl knew the true problem lie not in Defensor's physical components, but in the giant Protectobot's patchwork mindscape.

Prowl just hoped that whatever was wrong, Hotspot and the others could sort it out before it was too late…

* * *

_Why are you doing this? Why now?_

_Because he can't take anymore. Because he needs to stop._

_Needs to stop? We're in the middle of a battle- this is NOT the time to be a whiny little pacifist!_

_You don't understand. You never will._

_What's to understand, you gutless wimp? And YOU, YOU'RE helping him! You're siding with him!_

_We aren't wrong to feel the way we do._

_The timing could be a little better though._

_Agreed. I know how you two feel, but I can't have this now. Not when the others are depending on us._

_If not now, when? When will it end? It only ends when someone decides to make it end. And I'm deciding that now._

_YOU GLITCH-RIDDEN SON OF A SCRAPLET!_

_Enough. Calm down. You aren't helping._

_So to hold to your ideals, you'll condemn us to die? You'll condemn our friends and comrades to die?_

_I…just want it to-_

_I'm sorry, but they are right. My oath is to save lives. No matter my personal feelings, I'll have failed in that oath if we stop fighting now._

_Please…I'm not strong enough to do this without you._

_I'm your friend. I said I'd support you. But not like this._

_Four-to-one, rust-brain. You can't drag us down alone._

_Shut your mouth and focus._

_I don't want to do this anymore. Please don't make me…_

_I am sincerely sorry, but this is the last word on the matter for the time being._

_

* * *

_A thunderous blow to Menasor's chest plate signaled the return of Defensor to the battlefield. As the Dinobots began to rout the enemy anew, Prowl turned his gaze upward to Defensor's troubled countenance.

"Are you alright?"

"No. Part of me wants to die."


	2. Broken Mold

"Broken Mold"

**Continuity- **Probably fits best in Dreamwave G1 continuity, pre-War Within. Although it probably wouldn't be hard to place it in any G1 continuity.

* * *

"Your name."

Bluestreak looked up with dim optics, confused. An Autobot Security Forces officer was standing before him, clutching a data pad and intently studying the information on it. The officer's optics never left the pad, even as he waited for Bluestreak's response.

"E-excuse me?" Bluestreak managed to sputter out.

"Your name," the officer repeated, without a change in tone.

"Bl-Bluestreak."

"Bluestreak…registered merchant. Yes, I have your information as verified by the Senate's records right here," the officer continued on in his toneless voice, immersed in the data pad as if it were the Covenant of Primus itself. "It appears that you are the only survivor of the Praxus incident."

The words left the officer's mouth in the same tone, as if he were describing the weather. Bluestreak just stared as the Autobot in front of him continued to collate and catalog data, not moving from the spot.

"In-incident?" Bluestreak whispered. The officer finally looked up at him.

"Yes," he responded.

"They-they really did it. They burned the whole city! The _whole _city!" Bluestreak began, anger rising in his throat.

"Yes," came the toneless response from the officer.

"All my friends, Hopper, Plates, Tiptop, Amalga, _everyone_! They killed them all!"

"Yes," the same damned toneless tone.

"And-and you, you call it an INCIDENT?" Bluestreak yelled.

The officer's optics did…something…and then he looked back to his data pad and set back to work as he responded.

"Yes."

"_FRAG YOU!_" Bluestreak shouted, trembling with rage. The officer didn't respond, just kept focused on his data pad as the young civilian before him glared hatefully, arms fighting to stay down. Finally, the officer spoke.

"This happens almost on a daily basis. Eventually you run out of terms monstrous enough to describe what they are doing out there."

"I don't care what else has happened, this was my home. My life," Bluestreak said in a calmer voice, trying to stifle the fury within. "You don't know how this feels. I'm the last son of Praxus."

The officer looked up, and while his expression didn't change, something in his voice did.

"No, you aren't. I hail from Praxus."

"What?" Bluestreak's expression turned to surprise. The officer's head tilted slightly, as if he was recalling something.

"Several members of the Security Forces were proto-hatched in Praxus as well. Fusion, Smokescreen, Ricochet…"

The names meant nothing to Bluestreak; he shook his head and looked at the floor.

"Well, whatever. You all don't…didn't live there when those filthy butchers attacked. You weren't in the Brokara Marketplace when a proton bomb hit it and killed everyone I loved. You didn't dig yourself out from under three-hundred tons of assorted wreckage and charred corpses. And you sure as SLAG weren't there to prevent the whole thing in the FIRST PLACE!"

The officer studied Bluestreak carefully for a moment, then spoke again.

"I saw what remained of the Helix Gardens. I…wish I could have visited there one more time beforehand."

The Helix Gardens. A place for scholars and poets and other people Bluestreak usually found stuffy and boring. Reduced to a crater, he had been told. Inwardly, Bluestreak felt a bit of shame that he had never once took the time to go beyond the Gardens' gates to admire the methane-suspended crystals that hung within.

A few seconds of silence passed, then Bluestreak spoke.

"I'd like to join the Autobot Security Forces."

"Autobot _Army _now. And I figured you might. I've been working on your commission this whole time."

Bluestreak blinked in surprise, then opened his mouth to speak again.

"What's your name?"

"Prowl. Welcome aboard."


	3. Garbage In

"Garbage In..."

**Continuity- **Probably fits best in IDW G1 continuity.

* * *

"_SNAPDRAGON!_" screeched Windsweeper.

"Huh, whut?" came the response as Snapdragon lazily turned in the direction of the irate Triggercon.

"That's IT! That's ENOUGH! I've had it!" Windsweeper raged. "I can take being forced to hole up in this filthy bunker until we raze this planet's civilization to ash, but I CANNOT put up with THIS anymore!"

Snapdragon cocked his head curiously. "Put up with _this_ what?"

"Like you don't KNOW! It is slagging UNBEARABLE!"

Snapdragon folded his arms across his broad chest in annoyance. "Seriously, cut to the chase."

Seemingly unaware of how willing Snapdragon was to just beat the fuel out of him at the moment, Windsweeper pointed with a shaking, manic finger at the door to Snapdragon's quarters, which hung open.

"My door? Ehhhh, just easier to leave it open. Then I don't have to hit the button when I want to go in," said Snapdragon with a shrug.

"Your door isn't the POINT! What drifts OUT from inside your room is!" Windsweeper ranted. "The mounds of garbage and waste you just leave sitting around STINK! And my olfactory sensors detect it all the way from DOWN THE HALL and even THROUGH MY DOOR! I swear, I can even smell it when I'm OFF-LINE!"

Having heard the argument going on in the hallway, Skalor poked his head out from his own quarters.

"Aw, it ain't so bad, 'Sweeper," the Seacon offered. "I don't notice it."

Windsweeper's near-crazed optics turned in Skalor's direction.

"That's because you are used to being a reeking, unwashed bag of refuse YOURSELF, Skalor! But _some_ of us have standards! Some of us take pride in our personal hygiene!"

Skalor shrugged and shrunk back into his quarters as Windsweeper turned back to Snapdragon and pointed again at the Horrorcon's open room.

"Snapdragon, get all that damn garbage out of your quarters, or I swear I'll file a formal complaint with-"

"Yeah, yeah, calm down, pal. I'll get on it," Snapdragon interrupted, surprising Windsweeper with his almost congenial tone. "I'll have all the trash out of my quarters by the time you're back from scouting duty."

"R-really?" Windsweeper responded with a genuine sense of hope.

"Sure. Now get going. You don't want to be late in relieving Powerdive," Snapdragon punctuated this friendly advice with a pat to Windsweeper's back.

"I-I appreciate your consideration, Snapdragon," Windsweeper smiled and marched down the hall in much better spirits than he was a moment ago.

"Anytime, buddy," Snapdragon called after him, smirking under his faceplate. 

* * *

Approximately one solar cycle later, Windsweeper marched down the hall again. He saw Snapdragon's door hanging open and frowned.

"Snapdragon? Are you in-" Windsweeper paused as he stuck his head in the door and took note of his comrade's now-spotless room. "Hm, incredible!"

"Yo, Windsweeper! Ya like?" Snapdragon called out as he came down the opposite end of the hallway. Windsweeper regarded him with a grin.

"Great job! Now just keep it that way, and we'll have no further issues," Windsweeper nodded approvingly at the taller Decepticon and walked past him, headed back to his own quarters. Skalor poked his head out from within his room and watched Windsweeper stride away, then turned to Snapdragon.

"You actually did it?" Skalor asked as soon as Windsweeper was out of sight.

"Wait for it…" Snapdragon ignored the question and instead stared intently in the direction Windsweeper had gone.

"EEEEAAAAAAAAIIIIAGHHHHHHHHHH!" A scream abruptly emanated from down the hall.

"What the-?" Skalor asked in confusion. Snapdragon merely laughed.

"That'd be 'Sweeper finding all the garbage I dumped in his room."


	4. No Planet For Old Mechs

"No Planet For Old Mechs"

**Continuity- **Post-Beast Machines

* * *

The lion stood alone, on a cliff overlooking the recently-christened "New Cybertropolis". What had once been a sleek, glittering city of metal was now covered in patchwork vegetation, irregular and disordered.

As the lion's eyes traveled over the now months-old landscape, he found himself growing increasingly irritated. His mind demanded order, structure, evenness. But he could not find it from up here. All the city's scattered vegetation seemed almost like stains on a once-glistening armor plate. It was simply and clinically…wrong.

A brief gust of wind and one of his expected companions arrived; an enormous bald eagle. The lion turned from his solitary viewing to greet his friend.

"Ironhide's about a minute behind, as expected. The one thing he can never quite manage to do is get faster," the eagle intoned, smirking. He turned his head to the view of New Cybertropolis, keen eyes taking in the sight. "Well? What do you think, Prowl?"

"They said looking through your beast mode's optics, you'd appreciate it more, but I still really don't see it," Prowl admitted, even as the visage of a lion vanished and he stood on two feet again, his robot mode gleaming in the sunlight.

"Normally, I'd just shake my head and say "Same old Prowl", but I can't deny a certain sense of empathy," the eagle responded, as he himself transformed.

"Silverbolt…" Prowl began with a sigh. "You make it sound like I never change."

"That isn't necessarily bad. To not change," Silverbolt said with all seriousness. "Like I said, I get it."

"Sometimes things change beyond your ability to adapt, that's all it is," a voice boomed out from behind the conversing Maximals.

"Ironhide, I take it your mind is made-up too?" Silverbolt spoke to the approaching elephant, as it transformed into the third member of the Maximal Imperium.

"Yeah…yes. It's time," Ironhide spoke with a painful bluntness.

"I do have to say, whenever one of those young upstarts addresses me as a "Maximal Elder" or sticks "The Right Honorable" in front of my name, I start to feel as old as you," Silverbolt joked, attempting to keep the mood light.

Ignoring the playful jab, Ironhide looked straight to Prowl. "Let me make it clear. We aren't gonna go around pickin' fights on different planets like Grimlock does."

"I'd be insulted with the comparison if I thought you weren't legitimately concerned, but no, we're definitely not doing that," Prowl spoke plainly. He then turned to look Silverbolt in the optics. "Last chance. I know you have your doubts."

"It's hard…but I agree. This place is just too… " Silverbolt trailed off, suddenly distant.

"Alien?" Prowl offered. Silverbolt slowly nodded.

"It's funny. We operated off Earth for awhile. We've staged many campaigns on other primarily-organic worlds too."

"The blink of an eye is still the blink of an eye, no matter how long it takes. Especially when it comes to our species," Ironhide said, tinged with sadness.

"Then there's one final thing to do to ensure our feelings match," Prowl announced.

The other two nodded. Prowl leaped into the air, condensing and folding into a head with a flowing mane of hair. Silverbolt followed, encompassing Prowl in his wings, becoming a helmet and backpack. And finally, Ironhide appeared to come apart at the seams, swallowing his two smaller comrades and forming a protective coat and limbs around them.

Their thoughts splashed together like three lakes becoming an ocean, cool resolve washing over. And as Magnaboss took another look out over the city of New Cybertropolis, the course of action was instantly clear.

"It is agreed. We leave."


	5. The Trap

"The Trap"

**Continuity-** Heh, little cheating here. Subject's technically not a Transformer, only a guest-star...

* * *

He'd never considered himself extremely lucky by any means, but for Leniro "The Swathcutter" Rinel, this was as lucky as one could get.

A wanted being on seventeen worlds, including his home planet of Elthak, Leniro had received the news through somewhat unsavory channels. Death's Head, the widely-known and widely-feared interplanetary bounty hunter, had targeted him for termination. Leniro had initially scoffed at the claim. Surely there were bigger fish to fry in the cosmos than a lowly mass-murderer like himself. But when he was informed that Death's Head had arrived planet-side yesterday, Leniro's bluster quickly vanished.

Leniro had dealt with bounty hunters after his hide before, but this was different. This wasn't that Autobrand-wearing blue-and-red clown or that meatbag with the fancy armor who favored disintegrations.

This was Death's Head. No one knew if he was a cyborg or a pure mechanoid, but everyone knew that he always got the job done, regardless of conditions, no matter the quarry. Leniro knew that extreme measures had to be taken to ensure his continued existence.

It took some convincing and more bribery to get the others to join him, but Leniro felt a satisfying sense of accomplishment when he took a final headcount. Nine others of varying species, all with prices on their heads, all putting aside mutual hostility for this one purpose. Leniro wasn't worried about actually following up on paying them; he could easily skip town or leave the planet after this was done. Besides, ridding the universe of Death's Head ought to be payment enough for these other wanted beings.

The trap was set, the bait dangled, and surely enough, the quarry snared. Death's Head had come blithely, arrogantly strolling into town cycles ago. No weapons bared, no mounted tension or wary optics, he just walked into the town without a seeming care in the 'verse.

And Leniro and his cronies had emptied their weapons into the bounty hunter. Springing from predetermined hiding places, every plasma charge and armor-piercing bullet left their guns, every remote mine and un-pinned grenade went off, and every wire-guided missile had unerringly found its target. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of Death's Head was a limbless torso covered by a shredded red cape, with a pitted, skeletal head still twitching on the bounty hunter's neck.

After a rudimentary scan from afar for internal explosives, Leniro confidently strode up to the body. He kicked the ruined torso over, wanting to look his would-be executioner straight in the face.

"Not so tough now, are ya?" Leniro taunted. "You got caught up in yer own hype and this is what it gets ya!"

What was left of the bounty hunter's head looked up, sparking and sputtering, and tried to make a noise.

"What was that? Got some last words, proto-frag?" Leniro leaned in closer.

_"F…u…h- rrrrrr…cuh…"_

"What? Speak up!"

_"Fah…cnnnn…ct"_

A knot of anxiety unexpectedly built up in each of Leniro's three stomachs. "What are you tryin' to-"

_"Faaaaaaaaaacccccc…"_

A sudden, unexplained fear took Leniro and he lashed out and tore the remains of the bounty hunter's head off with astonishing ease. "SPIT IT OUT, TRASH!"

A voice called out from overhead.

"Facsimile construct."

Leniro whirled around and saw a caped figure on the roof of a nearby oil-house, aiming a shoulder-braced rocket launcher directly at him.

"Feel honored, yes? Those don't come cheap."

Death's Head fired.


	6. High and Dry

"High and Dry"

**Continuity-** Probably fits best somewhere in Marvel G1.

* * *

Fizzle blinked. The smoke curling upward from within the barrel of his blaster took on a questioning shape, then slowly dispersed.

How long had he been standing there? How long ago had he left Maccadam's? Couldn't have been more than a cycle or two. Yet, between the time his blaster discharged a round to the point where the smoke in the air was no longer visible, Fizzle felt sure he had lived several lifetimes.

"_Hurg-ge-hhh_."

Something made a terrible, wretched sound. Fizzle looked to his feet and beheld a pitiful sight. An Empty, a derelict Transformer; neutral by choice, empty by definition, and now- dying by degrees. It looked up and spoke a single word.

"H-help."

In that moment, Fizzle became sharply aware of one of his tensed digits on the trigger of a standard Autobot-issued blaster. The next moment brought a slight, sudden surge in his primary fuel pump, a reminder of the lingering buzz from a particularly intense session of over-energizing. And the moment after that- by far a much worse moment than the two that preceded it, Fizzle saw the leaking, sizzling gunshot wound in the Empty's chest.

What had happened was obvious, but Fizzle resisted the obvious for several moments after the first three, polarizing ones. Then around the seventeenth moment, Fizzle recalled everything in unforgiving detail.

He'd staggered out of Maccadam's, clearly beyond his limit. He turned down the alley behind the bar to take a shortcut back to Autobase. A grimy hand tapped his shoulder- he spun, he fired. And the result was this sorry robot now dying at his feet- a crumbling, dirty robot that now repeated its earlier plea.

"Hel-p…"

Fizzle abruptly backed away, panicking, dropping his blaster. The euphoria of the Energon-high had now been completely overridden with terror and revulsion.

"Whoa. Hard-CORE, Autobot."

Fizzle looked to the end of the alleyway to see three massive forms regarding him. He recognized them instantly.

Blitzwing. Astrotrain. Octane.

Triple-Changers. Decepticons all.

"Seriously, shootin' one of these beggars? Not even I'M that harsh," Blitzwing chuckled, unable to hide his amusement. "These Neuts probably don't even have enough juice in 'em to feel the pain."

The Empty made a rattling noise. "Hur…help."

Blitzwing grinned. "Whoops, maybe spoke too soon."

"I-I didn't mean…didn't mean…" Fizzle began and then stopped, common sense striking him. Explaining, justifying himself to _Decepticons_? Just how drunk was he?

"Enough already. Blitzwing, finish that thing off," Astrotrain uttered in a voice that was entirely too business-like.

_That thing_. Fizzle glumly noted that Astrotrain had referred to the Empty as if it was an object, wasn't alive, wasn't currently fighting for life on the ground of a filthy alleyway. Glancing over at the three Decepticons, Fizzle realized that the smirking Octane was staring at him with no doubt the exact same regard.

"Aw, are you rattled? Does getting oiled-up make you soft, Astrotrain?" Blitzwing taunted.

"No, stupid. The fun of killing is in the immediacy of it. In that one split-second your victim realizes they're slagged, THAT is when I'll laugh about it. This…this is just pathetic," Astrotrain grumbled. He gestured again at the dying Empty. "Kill it, Blitzwing, now."

"Eh, suit yourself."

"Yo, make sure you WATCH this, Autobot," Octane said, still smirking. "Think of it as a visual aid. It'll remind that we _own_ you now. Because if you don't want your comrades finding out about what you did here, you're going to do exactly as we tell you."

Blitzwing marched over and raised his foot over the Empty's head.

"Nighty-night, Neut."

Blitzwing brought his foot down. Fizzle felt sick.


	7. The Binds That Tie

"The Binds That Tie"

**Continuity- **Probably fits best in Dreamwave continuity, pre-War Within. But could really fit in early Marvel or IDW continuity as well.

* * *

Snarl gingerly touched his shoulder joint and grimaced. His arm was dislocated, without a doubt. He'd be hard-pressed to find a medic who'd fix it, especially if he told them how he was injured. Snarl leaned over to spit a stream of oil from his mouth into a waste receptacle sitting by his feet and winced at the stinging pain originating from his lower torso. The gut wound wasn't serious, but it was annoying, and in Snarl's book that was almost worse.

"Snarl, was it?"

Snarl's head whipped up in a flash, optics pulsing brightly, warning whomever had dared to approach that there was still plenty of fight left in him. To his credit, Snarl managed to contain his surprise when he saw who was standing before him.

"Yeah. And you'd be Grimlock."

The slightly larger Autobot looked down upon the seated Snarl with a narrowed visor, as if expecting his former opponent to respond violently. But Snarl wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a largely unprovoked attack. Still, Snarl's optics drifted slightly to his left, where a deactivated energo-sword lie resting on the bench. He was certain of his speed, expected that he could reach it before Grimlock could throw a punch.

"You handled your blade well. Better than me, even."

Snarl's attention immediately snapped back to Grimlock's face, where he noted the other Autobot's gaze was also now on the inert energo-sword. A compliment, Snarl was NOT expecting. He gritted his teeth and spoke.

"Doesn't matter. I didn't win."

Grimlock's stare returned to meet Snarl's own, as one of his massive hands absently ran across a still-molten scar on his chestplate.

"You cut deeper than me. And you're the first to force me into a draw. I'd have lost if I hadn't pulled that last arm lock off."

Snarl chuckled and jabbed a finger at Grimlock.

"Not like I ruined your record or anything. What are you, 378-1-1 now?"

"381-1-1."

"Oh yeah. Only one, albeit VERY high-profile loss."

Grimlock's visor narrowed. He clearly didn't like hearing this. Snarl smirked and continued.

"Not that losing to the "Big M" is all that uncommon. I reckon the guy could take down an O-Sentinel all by his lonesome."

"He's not alone. Not anymore. Got that little entourage that follows him around now."

Snarl suddenly saw where this was headed. Grimlock said nothing, waiting for him to ask the question. Snarl frowned and stood up, facing the other Autobot on equal ground.

"And you're putting together a little group of your own, is that what you're saying?"

"Times are changing. It isn't a bad idea to have some 'bots on your side…watching your back."

"How many you got so far?"

"Counting you, we'd be four. I've already got a fifth in mind too. Member of the Flying Corps. Comes down here to bust heads on his off-time."

"And we'd what? Swear loyalty to YOU?"

Grimlock tilted his head oddly, as if he hadn't expected the question, then responded.

"Swear loyalty to each other."

Several silent moments passed as the idea rolled around in Snarl's head. Grimlock simply stared, waiting for his response. Snarl finally opened his mouth.

"I'll think about it."


	8. Phantom Pain

"Phantom Pain"

**Continuity- **IDW continuity, post-Maximum Dinobots.

* * *

It started out slowly, quietly for Sunstreaker. At first there were only words that popped up in unguarded moments, echoing briefly in his head and then dissipating. He refused to acknowledge them, certainly didn't speak to anyone about them, and continued on with his day-to-day.

_help. please. stop. can't. _

Soon, these phantom words began convalescing into key phrases and eventually into cogent pleas. Sunstreaker certainly wasn't going to entertain the thought of answering back or even admitting to himself that they were real. They were ghosts, nothing more or less, unwelcome reminders of…The Ordeal…he had suffered and would never revisit as long as he lived.

_why. answer. please. you hear? help. stop him. Sunstreaker!_

_

* * *

_

Time passes, the voice gets worse, is heard in his mind more frequently. Prime calls in reinforcements, specialists. Trailbreaker, Cliffjumper, Mirage…

Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker half-smiles and listens to Sideswipe's inane chatter and forced bravado. He grits his teeth as Sideswipe laughs like an idiot and unintentionally reminds him of…The Ordeal. Sunstreaker hates him, but at least Sideswipe keeps the voice away. When he listens to Sideswipe, he doesn't have to hear the voice.

* * *

He volunteers for communications-monitoring duty with an increasing regularity. Sunstreaker carefully deletes incoming messages that acknowledge the voice, messages that ask for Ratchet or Ironhide or Jazz or someone who can provide answers and/or closure.

He doesn't feel badly about it. After all, the voice doesn't exist.

* * *

The voice has become insistent in its scattered pleas of late, ever since he met with Starscream.

_don't trust. warn them. not too late. not you._

Sunstreaker ignores it with practiced ease. It won't be long now. He won't have to hear it anymore. He'll be whole again. He'll be home.

* * *

Hope has become bitter ashes and Sunstreaker's body hurts all the time. Home is now poison to him and it is harder to focus on anyone or anything. At least the voice has stopped reverberating inside Sunstreaker's head. But it isn't much of a trade-off.

He sticks with Sideswipe, Ironhide, anyone who'll give him a chance to be distracted. But Ironhide is centered on something else and Sideswipe has become uncharacteristically reticent around him.

Sunstreaker thinks it was Ratchet. Ratchet told Sideswipe about…The Ordeal. And now Sideswipe thinks he understands, but he doesn't. How the hell could he?

Ratchet and Sideswipe didn't know about the voice. No one did. And Sunstreaker will keep it that way.

* * *

There's nothing to do but sit around and wait and wait and wait some more. Sunstreaker finds himself thinking about the voice and starts to imagine a face to it.

But the face is twisted in agony and Sunstreaker stops thinking about it because the voice _never existed_ and he shouldn't be thinking about it anymore.

* * *

Sunstreaker is dragged to the ground and assailed from all angles.

Even with the neuro-poison flowing through his system, he feels the creatures tearing through his armor, rapidly picking his body apart. He understands it is a mercy compared to what the boy went through...is still going through. Sunstreaker can't help him now. He didn't think that far ahead.

There's a bomb at eye-level. Sunstreaker raises his gun and aims at it. Before he fires, Sunstreaker offers up a prayer to a deity he doesn't believe in and an overdue apology to a human boy he's sure doesn't believe in _him_ anymore.

He's stunned when he receives a fragmented response.

_not too late. understand. remember. we're still same._

Sunstreaker feels something stab through his abdomen and gives voice to his pain as he squeezes the trigger.

"Hunter."


	9. Everything New is Old Again

"Everything New is Old Again"

**Continuity- **Post G1, Pre-Beast Wars.

* * *

A Predacon walks into a bar.

Ignoring the stares with carefully-polished indifference, he pulls up a stool and motions for a drink. The bartender doesn't discriminate when it comes to paying customers. The dirty credits are snatched up and a can of oil is plunked down. The Predacon retracts his mouth plate and raises the can to his intake.

"You a Predacon?"

Annoyed, the Predacon puts his drink down and looks to his left as a young Maximal takes the seat beside him.

"Yeah, kid. Got a problem?"

"Huh? Oh no, no," the kid manages to choke out, holding his hands up. "Just…don't usually see your kind in here, y'know?"

"Why not?"

"Well, this is a Maximal establishment."

"Virtually everything is a Maximal establishment nowadays, kid. What's your point?"

The Maximal grins and laughs sheepishly. "You're pretty old, huh?"

The Predacon rolls his optics and takes a quick shot of oil. "How do you figure?"

"Well, you've got that look about you. You can just…_tell_, even with the upgrade."

The Predacon laughs. "Upgrade. Feh. Maximals say "upgrade", we say "downsize". Well in any case, you're right, kid. I am old."

"How old?"

"I was in the crowd at Kaon when Megatron first presented his "Rise Up" manifesto."

The Maximal's optics go wide. "Whoa, so you are…were a Decepticon?"

"Yep."

"So, were you anything special? A binary-bonder? A Nucleon-user? Ooh, a gestalt limb? That'd be awesome. They don't allow gestalts anymore, huh?"

The Predacon almost allows himself a smile at the younger Transformer's gushing. "Last I heard, gestalt teams were banned by the Pax."

Somewhat conspiratorially, the Maximal leans in closer and talks in a hushed tone. "Yeah, but I heard that the Maximal Elders keep their own gestalt team hidden away somewhere in Cybertropolis. Y'know, just in case?"

"Funny, I hear the same exact thing about the Tri-Pred Council," the Predacon responds as he shakes his head. "Cybertropolis, geez. I remember when it was New Iacon. And before that, just regular Iacon."

"Heh-heh," was the Maximal's response. As if he suddenly had an itch somewhere, the Predacon made a face.

"And after the wars, they actually renamed the Decepticon capital city "Lightmount". Can you believe that? Like that's clever or something?"

Feeling more comfortable in the Predacon's company, the Maximal opts to ask a more loaded inquiry.

"So, you think peace'll last? I mean…do you want peace to last?"

"Nah."

"Huh? Why not?" the Maximal questions, a little taken aback. The Predacon smiles and motions to the other Transformer with his drink.

"If your leaders wanted peace to last, they should have executed all the chief Predacon generals from the outset. Guys like Magmatron and Galvatron III…or is it IV now? I forget. Anyhow, he's not either of the Galvatrons that I served under, that's for sure. But guys like them, they ain't gonna sit down at the table and beg for scraps. They'll find a way to make it us versus you again."

"And…would you join them?"

"Be stupid to tell you that, wouldn't it?"

"Uhm…" the Maximal responded weakly. As if he hadn't heard his own rhetorical question, the Predacon continued on.

"Well, definitely. I would."

"What are you doing now?" the Maximal was suddenly desperate to change the subject.

"Construction work, mostly. But I'm just a glorified gopher. All I was ever good at. Fetch this, remove that. At least slaggin' each other was more exciting."

The Predacon paused and smiled, taking another sip of his drink. "I didn't join the Decepticons to be a dump truck, y'know."


	10. No Exceptions

"No Exceptions"

**Continuity- **IDW, pre-Spotlight: Shockwave.

* * *

"Well, this is another fine mess, isn't it?"

Grimlock ignored Snarl and continued trudging forward, a viscous blend of tainted oil and other unpleasant run-off surrounding his knees and impeding his every step.

"I mean, we coulda just let Scorponok go. It was just a buncha solar agitators. Run of the mill, off-the-shelf stuff!"

Grimlock grunted. "That's not the point and you know it."

"I'm just saying that it wouldn't have hurt to drop the whole "Dynobot credo" for this."

Grimlock turned, glaring at the heavily-armored Dynobot that followed close behind him and halting him in his tracks. Behind Snarl, Sludge stopped as well, almost a bit too late. He briefly struggled to keep the one-legged, half-functioning Slag balanced across his broad shoulders. The Dynobot flamethrower gritted his teeth and banged a shredded, balled fist against Sludge's forearm with as much strength as he could muster at the moment.

"W-watch it, chunky! You AIN'T d-droppin' me in that mix!"

Slag weakly motioned to the thick soup pooled around the others' legs. Sludge tilted his head slightly to regard his current cargo.

"Sorry."

"Fuh-frag your _sorry_. It can't be th-that hard to pay attention to where you're walkin', ya aft-draggin' half-a-moron!"

Sludge's blocky jaw set into an uncharacteristically wry grin. "_Bolts and nuts will break my struts…"_

"I'm gonna kuh-kill you. As soon as I get some CR time, I'm gonna kill you."

Grimlock ignored Sludge and Slag and stabbed a finger at Snarl. "This discussion is over. I'm the boss. You follow my orders or you go home."

Snarl held up his hands in disgust. "Oh like I'm gonna tread back through mega-miles of the Wastes NOW. Right."

"Then quit moaning and fall in."

"Yes…SIR. Boss."

Snarl tossed a dismissive, two-fingered salute in Grimlock's direction. Seemingly satisfied, Grimlock turned about and continued slogging forward. He stopped again after another ten laborious strides, focused optics catching something approaching from the sky. Swoop descended in dive-bomber mode, transformed in midair, and landed before Grimlock with a discontented expression on his face.

"No sign of Scorpy. Likely long gone by now."

"Maybe."

"Likely long gone," Swoop repeated sourly.

Grimlock caught the tone and grunted again. With some annoyingly-noticeable effort, Grimlock forced himself around Swoop, the cocktail of substances that flooded most of the Wastes still defiantly tugging at his lower body. Swoop turned around to regard the Dynobot commander's back.

"Look, Grimlock. Scorpy's probably warm and dry in some preplanned bolt-hole by now, while we're out here in the mush."

"Exactly why we're gonna find him and make him hurt."

"Slag's injured. He's not going to be of any use if we DO hit trouble."

"Go get sc-scrapped, featherweight!" Slag spat in Swoop's direction. Grimlock replied to Swoop without looking back.

"He has a use. Most of his body's intact. Sludge can employ him as a shield."

"Hadn't thought of that," Sludge intoned, almost thoughtfully.

"NO ONE IS USIN' ME AS A SH-SHIELD!" Slag shouted, thrashing a bit.

"Day's young," Sludge replied, now wearing a stupid smile. He moved to follow Grimlock as Slag started screaming profanities and speaking ill of Sludge's proto-hatcher. Snarl and Swoop remained still for a moment, staring after their comrades. Swoop sighed.

"Well, at least there's one good thing about always doing it the head-on, all-out Grimlock way."

"Hm? What's that?" Snarl asked. Swoop smiled confidently.

"When our number's up, when it's time to cash in…we'll definitely see it coming."


	11. Fight Seen

"Fight Seen"

**Continuity- **Movie, probably post-Revenge of the Fallen.

* * *

William Lennox crouched behind the downed Ironhide, kneeling in a puddle of his comrade's vital fluids. He inspected the Autobot's wound, the result of a thirty-foot long Cybertronian katana being plunged into Ironhide's back. All NEST soldiers had to take a mandatory course on Transformer anatomy taught by Ratchet, and Lennox determined that the strike had missed Ironhide's spark chamber by inches. Instead, it had ruptured one of the Autobot's primary fuel pumps; liquid Energon was now mixing freely with the dirt of the jungle floor. Ironhide would live…but wouldn't be walking home.

"_Kaff…_look…bad?" the primarily-black Autobot choked out.

"Nah, s'nothing, buddy. Still, I wouldn't sit up just yet."

Ironhide tilted his head to behold the stand-off that was taking place before them. His assailant, a horrific-looking Decepticon named Bludgeon, stood in a combat stance, menacingly hefting the blade that had felled Ironhide moments before. Between Bludgeon and Ironhide, stood Brawn, training dual pistols on the Decepticon. The rest of Lennox's troops had pulled back to safer cover behind trees, also observing the tense stand-off. Lennox grimaced and tapped Ironhide lightly on the chest.

"You said this guy wasn't too big…wasn't anything special. I didn't expect…"

"Didn't expect what?"

Lennox frowned again. "Didn't expect him to look like some reject from a bad eighties cartoon."

Ironhide chuckled lightly before dissolving into a hacking fit as his wound flared up again. "Don't worry, probably just some minor upgrades. Brawn can handle it."

"Minor upgrades? This guy snuck up undetected and took you down with one shot!"

"He was usin' an ambient stealth field and that was a _cheap _shot…_kehph_!"

"Dammit, I'd better radio for Sideswipe…"

"Brawn…has this," Ironhide insisted, motioning for Lennox to watch. Lennox sighed and motioned for the rest of his men to stand down.

Brawn glanced back at Ironhide with one optic, then returned his full attention to Bludgeon. "Thought I heard you preferred to face your opponents head-on, Bludgeon. What's the deal with taking ol' Ironhide down from behind?"

Bludgeon sneered. "There are no absolutes to a master of Metalikato. It is what makes us such flexible warriors. If I must strike an opponent down from behind, then that is what I shall do."

"And here I was thinking you _"Way of the Sword" _types had some kinda honor. Pheh," Brawn smirked, keeping his pistols trained on the Decepticon.

"You have no conception of what honor is to me, so stop insulting us both by trying comprehend it."

"Alright then, gruesome. Let's dance."

Bludgeon moved with startling speed, lunging forward and slicing both of Brawn's pistols to pieces with a single pass of his katana. Brawn backpedaled and deployed his shoulder-mounted turret, showering Bludgeon in bullets. The large Decepticon easily weathered the barrage and swung again, this time at Brawn's head. The short Autobot managed to fall backwards, avoiding the swing and ending up on the ground.

"DIE, Autobot!" Bludgeon shrieked as he spun his sword in the opposite direction and moved to impale Brawn as he lay on his back. But suddenly, the Autobot brought both his hands up and caught the tip of the blade between his hands. Bludgeon growled in annoyance and applied more pressure, but Brawn easily held the blade in place.

"I'm stronger than I look. Also; unbreakable fists," Brawn replied lightly. He quickly swung a foot up and braced it on the hilt of Bludgeon's katana, then twisted hard and snapped the Decepticon's blade in two. Somewhat alarmed, Bludgeon leapt back and drew a shorter sword from his waist armor. Brawn slowly got to his feet, regarding the Decepticon's new weapon.

"Correct me if I'm recalling human history wrong, but the shorter blade's supposed to be for off-lining yourself when things go south."

Bludgeon's hideous mouth locked in a grimace, then he pointed his remaining blade at Brawn.

"We'll meet again, fool," the Decepticon snarled, then he turned about and bounded deeper into the jungle. A few of Lennox's men fired rounds after him, but Bludgeon's massive strides carried him away before he could sustain any further damage.

Brawn walked over to Ironhide's downed form and unceremoniously hoisted the larger Autobot across his shoulders.

"C'mon, you ain't got time to leak, old-timer."


	12. Eldest Hand

"Eldest Hand"

**Continuity- **Sometime between All Hail Megatron # 6 and # 8.

* * *

Perceptor brought the rifle to his shoulder, peered through the scope, then set it down and adjusted the sights. Once again, he set the rifle against his shoulder, peered through the scope, and set it down.

"Don't think you're gonna shoot any straighter, professor."

Kup entered the room as Perceptor magno-clamped his rifle to his back and regarded him.

"I am simply ensuring that my equipment is in nominal condition."

Kup rolled the cy-gar in his mouth around for a moment and grimaced. "Ain't gettin' any nominal-er, I'd say."

"Is something the matter, commander?" Perceptor asked with a straight face.

Kup's expression softened and he leaned against a nearby wall, folding his arms. "I wanna know why you ain't offered your help to Ratchet about tryin' to get Prime back in the game."

Perceptor's expression remained icy. "Ratchet's remedial skills outstrip my own. I'd simply be a encumbrance."

"Slag," Kup grunted and motioned accusingly at Perceptor. "You think you gotta be…_this _all the time now? You're with my team fer a different reason, y'know."

"Yes, I am completely cognizant of that…reason," Perceptor's voice faltered an inch. Kup immediately capitalized on it.

"You don't haveta sacrifice the 'bot you were just to keep up with the rest of us."

"Perhaps I simply wasn't enamored with…the 'bot I was."

"Hey, lemme remind you that the 'bot you were saved my life. Brought me back from the brink," Kup nearly spat. "So I don't appreciate you slaggin' on that guy."

Perceptor had no response. Kup stared at him for a few more seconds, then grunted and turned to leave. He tilted his head and spoke over his shoulder.

"In whatever case, stay frosty. We'll be movin' soon. I got Trailbreaker workin' out some exit strategies at the moment. Soon as we've solidified our route, we're takin' Prime outta here to higher ground."

Perceptor simply nodded. Kup walked out of the room, passing by Prowl.

"Commander," Prowl intoned politely. Kup grunted and nodded in acknowledgment before continuing on. Prowl entered the room, coming face-to-face with Perceptor. Before he could offer a greeting, Perceptor spoke.

"Come to verify if your house of cards has buckled yet?"

The frown that sank Prowl's face was almost comically-overdone. "Perceptor, have you taken a look around you recently? The house has long since buckled. However…"

Perceptor finished the thought for him. "It never hurts to discern which cards are still in play."

Prowl smirked easily. "We'll make a strategist of you yet."

Perceptor returned to silence. Prowl's expression turned to one of unease.

"But I did want to speak to you about…well, _you_. How shall I put this…?"

"You may as well speak plainly," Perceptor replied.

"Plainly, you seem…out of character."

Perceptor scowled. "Interesting. I suppose you'll wait until I've been incapacitated and then do something about that."

Another frown, this one nearly-imperceptible but far more honest, tugged at Prowl's lips. He quickly recovered and went pokerfaced. "Perceptor."

Perceptor studied Prowl for a moment and then sighed. "I apologize. That insinuation was inappropriate."

Prowl raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "Perceptor. It's evident that you are still…struggling with your misgivings, but I need to know if I can still trust you to see the plan through to the end."

"And where precisely does it end, Prowl?"

"With Kup. It began with Kup and it will end with Kup."

Perceptor locked optics with Prowl. "The precise instant that is no longer your determination, I WILL become distinctly untrustworthy."

"I believe you," Prowl replied as he turned to leave.


	13. Cold Awakening

"Cold Awakening"

**Continuity- **IDW, the first Ark's arrival into the Dead Universe.

* * *

I awaken to blackness and cold.

Uncompromising, hellish, liquid cold that fills the entirety of my being to the brim.

Horror and panic clutch at my mind, beckoning me into their paralyzing grip. Nearby, I can hear screams emanating from crumbling vocoders, fragments of agony obstructing their issue. They are coming from my followers, my loyal crew.

I swiftly repel my own tumultuous emotions and attempt to stand in the dim light. I am the Prime. I will not succumb to this. Primes do not surrender…they _CONQUER_.

As soon as my footing is regained, the coldness within suddenly surges violently, pooling in my chest. The pain beggars description. I crumple to my knees, unable to muster even another notion of resistance. By Primon, it _hurts_!

But beyond the pain, I sense something…_in _the coldness. It…is alive? No. It is dead…and yet it lives all the same. And it wants something…something within me.

Something…it does not find. I feel a rage manifest inside the walls of my frame. A rage within me, but not _of _me. Primal, raw, terrible, wonderful. And I abruptly realize what it was looking for.

The Matrix. It wanted the Matrix. And it found only vestigial traces of the icon that once resided within my chest. Part of me feels a sense of victory, of self-righteous satisfaction. I long ago cast out that ridiculous trinket, left it in the care of that complacent fool Omega Supreme. A symbol of life, of good intentions and false promises is of no use to me. Let the weak find power or guidance through the Matrix. My leadership will thrive on the strength of my own will, not some quasi-mystical relic. My spark will…

My spark. I come to another abrupt, sobering realization. I can no longer feel my spark pulsating inside my chest. The coldness within has robbed me of it and now sustains this frame in its place. I, third and greatest of the Prime lineage, now exist solely at the whim of this…parasite.

What manner of creature, of being, IS this?

The pain subsides and I cautiously, almost reverently, reach out to it. I expand my consciousness, trying to probe at the blackness that threatens to drown me from the inside out. And almost to my surprise…it enlightens me.

It has existed alone for a long time. There once was life here, in this expanse that has swallowed us whole. But the creature devoured it. Devoured everything and yet still hungered. It never gives, it only takes. It is an anti-Matrix; the nemesis of life, the absence of light. It is _Darkness_.

In that moment, we understand one another. We understand how we can benefit from each other.

An eerie, orange light approaches. It is one of my men, the mouth of his arm-mounted cannon lit with plasma. He extends a hand to me, the glow of the cannon briefly passing over my face and illuminating my features.

"Rise, my lord. Rise!"

I do not care for his tone. But I take his hand and rise. His optics flare brilliantly in the dim light as he grips my shoulder.

"Do you feel it? There is _power_ here," he hisses excitedly.

"Yes, I have already found it," I murmur, as he regards me with something I take to be awe. I straighten to my full height, unbound by the pain and confusion of moments past. I finally comprehend that I am more now, not less. And my purpose remains unchanged.

I will yet have my empire, my perfect universe. Even if it is a dead one.


	14. Blame Guilt

"Blame Guilt"

**Continuity- **Directly after Beast Wars: The Ascending.

* * *

Optimus Minor squinted as the curtain of dawn tore open and the sun began its ascent. It had been two days since the so-called "Shokaract War" had ended. Two days and Minor and his fellow Maximals were in the midst of preparing to return to Cybertron. It was likely to be a far gentler homecoming than the one those who returned on the Pack's transwarp cruiser received.

Minor had once upon a time felt thankful he could at least still remember his life on Cybertron. Some, like Claw Jaw, felt more at home on Earth. Their stasis pods had been damaged by the tumultuous climate, resulting in identity chip damage and/or memory loss. In a way, it was nearly as insidious as a Predacon shell program.

But today, _now_…Minor wouldn't mind a little memory loss, specifically of the horrific price the Maximals had paid for their victory over Unicron's minions. And in the paying of that price, Optimus Minor had found himself unwillingly cast as a vindictive, heedless creditor.

"Hey, Minor. Whatcha' up to?"

Snarl approached from behind, noticeably keeping his tone neutral. Snarl had been instrumental in the victory against Shokaract on Cybertron, just as Minor had been instrumental in the victory on Earth. The only difference was; Minor had never regretted a victory as much as he did this one.

"Just…reflecting, Snarl."

"Understandable, considering what we've been through in the past week," Snarl said as he lightly kicked a errant pebble. "What we've lost."

Anger suddenly billowed in Minor and he wheeled on his friend, wide-eyed and hurt.

"And THERE it is! I knew it!"

Snarl looked up, genuinely confused as Minor stabbed a damning finger in his direction. "What?"

"Don't be shy, Snarl! You can say it! Our friend is DEAD! And I'm the one who killed him!"

Snarl's first impulse was to smile reassuringly, so he went with it.

"C'mon, Minor, you can't seriously think you…"

"No one's talking about it, but it's painfully obvious that they all blame me," Minor turned from Snarl, ignoring his words and choosing to focus instead on the ground. "Razorbeast saved us all from the Pred shell program. Gathered us together, kept us going! And how do I repay him? I shoot him in the head."

Snarl's demeanor swiftly veered in the direction of indignant fury. He grabbed the simian Maximal's shoulder and whirled him around so they were face-to-face. Startled, Minor watched as Snarl's optics abruptly lit with a pain, a _guilt_ that matched and exceeded his own.

"Hey! When that flying Angolmois-powered freakshow first attacked, I tried to stand my ground and fight him! But Razorbeast shoved me out of the way! Took the hit!" Snarl shouted, his clawed fingers digging into Minor's shoulder. "So if anyone has the right to feel guilty- it's ME!"

Optimus Minor had no response. Snarl slowly let go of his shoulder and looked away, acutely uncomfortable with his outburst. An odd silence intruded on the two Maximals, neither of which was known for staying quiet for any protracted amount of time. Finally, Minor summoned his voice and spoke to his friend.

"I…I didn't think of that. It didn't even register. So much was happening…"

Snarl haltingly nodded and responded. "It was the kind of guy he was…the small things that go unnoticed…"

Snarl trailed off as the faint vestiges of dawn vanished and the sun settled in the sky. Minor took in the new day and quietly spoke again.

"We won't forget though, right?"

"Never."


	15. Social Call

"Social Call"

**Continuity- **IDW, between Revelation and Maximum Dinobots.

* * *

"Hey there, tall, bright, and anti-social."

Arcee turned to regard the speaker, her energy sword still half-buried in a convulsing, mid-sized Decepticon. She recognized the impertinent, self-assured voice immediately.

"Hot. Rod."

"Yo."

Arcee glared and returned to the business at hand, violently tearing her blade free of its now-expired victim. Another Decepticon backed away, trembling, seemingly ignorant of Hot Rod's presence. He turned to flee, only to come face-to-face with the predominantly-red Autobot cavalier. Hot Rod merely shrugged and stepped aside. To his credit, the Decepticon didn't even pause as he brushed past Hot Rod and made for the door. His attempt to flee was abruptly halted as a lethally-charged flechette struck him square in the back. The projectile instantly short-circuited his motor reflexes and splintered into micro-shrapnel upon penetration, with dozens of needlepoint shards shooting through his spark core. The Decepticon lived in agony for a measure of picoseconds, then expired before his body hit the ground. Hot Rod peered at the Decepticon's downed form for a few moments before shaking his head.

"That was really nasty. And I've seen nasty."

Arcee's bolt-launcher collapsed into her wrist compartment as she simultaneously deactivated and stowed her energy sword. Without a word, she walked past Hot Rod and to the door.

Hot Rod briefly toyed with grabbing her arm to stop her, but decided he was rather fond of his hand and preferred to keep it. Instead, he simply followed her out of the bar, past the remaining, frightened-to-death and cowering patrons.

Once outside, Arcee continued walking, seemingly paying the closely-following Hot Rod no heed. Then some distance away from the bar, she finally spoke.

"What do you want?"

Hot Rod shrugged and folded his arms. "I heard you were up and about again. Thought I'd check up on you. I stopped by Gorlam Prime and Hardhead gave me your general whereabouts. Told me you'd left for a jaunt over here to Hydrus-Two."

Arcee made no sound. Hot Rod continued, with a grin. "Well, not in so many words, more like differently-pitched grunts corresponding to my yay-or-nay questions. Seems like even being dead didn't improve that one's disposition."

Arcee remained silent, her back still to him. Hot Rod grin faded and he walked up to stand at her side. He decided that if she wanted to kill him, she…well…COULD. So he might as well forego caution.

"I saw what you did to Jhiaxus. Or what was left of him. Good for you. Exorcising demons is always cathartic. I went through something similar just recently on Ki-Aleta with-"

"What do you WANT?" Arcee repeated, malice now tingeing her words. If Hot Rod had a collar, he would have tugged at it.

"I was just wondering. After all that Expansion business, I'd have thought you'd want to come in out of the cold."

"Out of…the cold?"

"Yeah, y'know, formally join the war effort instead of slaughtering random nobodies in taverns on backwater planets. I'm sure I could get them to reinstate you on a provisional basis, get Magnus off your back and-"

"No," Arcee cut Hot Rod off abruptly. "Not now."

Hot Rod decided to not press the issue and simply nodded. "Okay. But I just wanted you to remember that you aren't alone out here. Long as you've got that symbol on your chest, it's a standing offer."

Arcee didn't respond. Hot Rod turned to leave.

"There's a certain gold-plated ego-bot I'm looking for on Earth. I gotta get back to that. Take care of yourself."

"It's my specialty," she muttered, not loud enough for him to hear.


	16. Day of DRIFT

"Day of D.R.I.F.T."

**Continuity- **Cartoon, pre-movie. Also; heh-heh.

* * *

"Thank you for accepting my invitation!" Doctor Fujiyama, the famous scientist, exclaimed.

Spike Witwicky and Chip Chase entered the laboratory, followed closely by Optimus Prime.

"Thanks for having us, doc! We're eager to see your latest invention," Spike said cheerfully.

"My friends…meet D.R.I.F.T.!" Doctor Fujiyama, the famous scientist, said as he pressed a button on the wall. The wall slid up, revealing a white robot, only slightly shorter than Optimus Prime. It resembled a real Transformer, but there were elements inherent in the design that clearly marked it as a human creation- the Japanese kanji etched all over its body for one.

"D.R.I.F.T. responds to your every command, has THREE swords, and can even play Go with you!" the famous scientist explained.

"What does "D.R.I.F.T." stand for, doctor?" asked Chip.

"It doesn't matter, Chip-san. Acronyms are awesome," Doctor Fujiyama replied with a smile before turning to Optimus Prime, who was studying D.R.I.F.T. intently. "So Prime-san, what are your thoughts?"

Optimus Prime stared deep into D.R.I.F.T.'s vacant, soulless optics for a moment before replying.

"Doctor, D.R.I.F.T. is clearly a crime against mech and god…but I can't help but find him…" Prime put a hand to his chin, thoughtfully. "I guess the term would be…awesomely outrageous?"

Before the famous scientist could respond, another wall in the room suddenly crumbled, revealing a giant female ninja robot with a oversized katana.

"Oh NO, Nightbird's escaped again!" Doctor Fujiyama, the famous scientist, yelled in horror. "How does this keep happening?"

"Look out, Prime!" screamed Spike.

"Wha-?"

Prime turned to look at Spike, which left him open to a kick from Nightbird, sending him toppling towards the humans.

"Look out, Chip!" Spike shouted, shoving Chip's wheelchair out of harm's way, then throwing himself in the opposite direction.

"Spike, doooooon't- !" Chip yelled helplessly as his wheelchair rolled directly towards a nearby flight of stairs.

Prime crashed to the ground as Nightbird turned her attention to her creator with murder in her optics. Spike and Doctor Fujiyama desperately backed away as the ninja robot advanced on them.

"Doctor, quick!" Spike said. "Use some karate on her!"

"I find that offensive! Just because I'm of Japanese ancestry, you assume I know karate!" Doctor Fujiyama fumed.

"I assume you know karate because you built two giant karate robots!"

Nightbird swung her katana down towards them. Suddenly, a white and silver hand reached down and caught the katana before it could strike Spike and the famous scientist. Nightbird looked up to behold D.R.I.F.T. as he came to life to defend his creator.

"Oh! D.R.I.F.T. has become a real boy!" Doctor Fujiyama shouted in joy.

D.R.I.F.T. turned to regard his creator with a smile that was equal parts jubilant enthusiasm and haughty panache.

"You KNOW it, padre! OH YEAH!" D.R.I.F.T. proclaimed.

"D.R.I.F.T.! The third sword!" instructed Doctor Fujiyama. D.R.I.F.T. immediately complied as Nightbird lunged for him.

"Sorry, my sister from the same mister, but it's _cleaverin' _taaaaah-ime!"

D.R.I.F.T. brandished the long sword that had been strapped to his back and defeated Nightbird somehow.

"Well done, D.R.I.F.T.!" the famous scientist gushed. Spike went to go check on Chip, who now laid in a twisted heap at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh no, Chip! You've really gotta take better care of yourself!" Spike admonished.

"Unnnnngh…" Chip moaned.

"It's alright, Chip-san. I'll happily loan D.R.I.F.T. to you so he can help with your recovery," said Doctor Fujiyama.

"Wow, I guess no one's really disabled as long as they have D.R.I.F.T.!" Spike grinned.

"Remember, kids- always recycle. TO THE EXTREME! BUST IT!" added D.R.I.F.T. mirthfully.

"That's my D.R.I.F.T.!" Doctor Fujiyama, the famous scientist, laughed.


	17. Grind

"Grind"

**Continuity- **IDW, set during Spotlight: Sideswipe.

* * *

The red warrior strikes; a solid blow across my faceplate. I am initially surprised at the sensation of pain, and then elated. It has been so long…nothing but emptiness, nothing but cold.

The one who challenges me is young, full of anger and resentment. His movements are filled with a halting tension that reminds me of myself…before the dark. A surface scan of his frame indicates several ballistic and energy weapons stowed away…but he isn't using them yet. He wants to try and beat me with his bare fists. This is humbling.

I had long assumed our descendants would grow lazy and complacent over the millennia. That without Nova's leadership, evolution would stagnate. But this division in our species, this long war they've fought…it has birthed Transformers that I would be proud to call brothers.

I chance a look over at my compatriot. The red badges attack again and again in their alt modes, trying to wear him down, but he stands fast. I've never particularly liked him, his brand of merciless sadism…but he has my respect as a warrior.

My opponent doesn't miss the moment of distraction and nearly unhinges my jaw with his next blow. Given moments, the jaw will reset itself…a "gift" bestowed by the place of my death and rebirth. I, however, merely find it a damper on an otherwise enjoyable bout. I can fall, but I will rise again. My opponent can only fall once.

Damn it all. As if to remind me of another handicap, there is a sudden wrench in my gut. With effort, I ignore it and throw another punch. We will hold our position. It will happen soon. And then, I will truly be able to call this fierce warrior before me my brother. In this, the hour of the great Expansion…


	18. What Lies Beneath

"What Lies Beneath"

**Continuity- **Sometime early in Animated Season 3.

* * *

It was dark, dusty, and cold. Those were the first sensations that struck Noah Acton when he opened his eyes. After these feelings subsided, fear immediately swooped in and grabbed hold. He shouldn't have been out here at this time of night. He shouldn't have snuck out of his bedroom window and walked nearly four blocks away from his house. He _certainly_ shouldn't have been trying to spray-paint _"Homework SUX" _on a support beam under the old highway overpass.

He had just finished the "U" when the world came tumbling down. Furious, unearthly sounds on the road overhead, then an explosion…and when Noah had looked up, death hurtling straight towards him. A dark-green mass, growing larger and larger, until it encompassed the whole of his field of vision. All Noah could do was fall to the ground, cover his head, and scream.

"Yuh…you okay there, little buddy?"

Noah forced down his terror and followed the voice, which seemed simultaneously near and very far at the same time. He found himself looking at the head of a giant robot, upside-down and above him. The robot had a lower jaw that nearly swallowed the rest of his face. But its intimidating appearance was softened by the concern evident in the robot's gentle, blue optics. Noah suddenly realized who and what he was looking at.

"You're…one of them Autobots, aren't you? Uh…_Bulkskull!_"

"Bulk-_head_, actually. Hi," the Autobot replied, looking a bit strained.

"What…what happened?"

"This Autobot trapped us here!"

Noah turned to locate a second voice, this one shrill and accusatory. He found it thanks to the two piercing red optics that shone in the blackness just a few meters beyond Bulkhead's face. Bulkhead tilted his head up as far as he could to regard the voice.

"You're the one who attacked ME and brought this whole overpass down, you filthy Decepti-clone!"

"No I didn't, I was minding my own business when YOU attacked me and made us fall down here!"

Bulkhead made a frustrated sound and looked down again at the frightened boy he was shielding with his own body.

"Don't listen to this guy, kid. Everything he says is a lie. Good thing his arms are pinned, though. Or else we'd be in even more trouble."

The aforementioned pinned liar struggled furiously for a moment, then bit back.

"I'm not pinned! I can free myself whenever I want to. And I don't want to right now! I _really_ don't want to right now!"

The string of lies was punctuated as the Decepticon squirmed a bit, causing more dust and debris to become unsettled. But in the end, he was clearly unable to free himself. He sunk his head back to the ground with an odd smile as he regarded Noah and Bulkhead.

"See? I'm free. Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

"_Hugggh. _You Starscream clones are even more defective than the real thing!" Bulkhead groaned.

"I'm the real Starscream! _Who is perfect in every way!_"

"Just be quiet, willya?"

"I'm not talking right now! I've been utterly silent this whole time!"

Bulkhead shook his head and regarded Noah again. "Listen, little buddy. I sent out a distress call and either the police or my friends'll pick it up and be along to get us outta here in no time."

Noah meekly nodded and spoke softly. "My folks are gonna ground me for sneakin' out."

"Aw, they'll just be happy you're safe. You probably won't get in trouble," Bulkhead offered sympathetically.

"Y-you really think so?" Noah asked.

The Starscream clone suddenly laughed, displaying a crooked grin.

"He's telling the truth, kid!"


	19. Die But Once

"Die But Once"

**Continuity- **Beast Wars, between the episodes "Aftermath" and "Coming of the Fuzors, Part 1".

* * *

Optimus Primal was dead.

And Dinobot was not surprised. He had long believed that Primal's innate bravado and naïve idealism would one day conspire to end the Maximal commander's life.

No, Dinobot was not surprised at all when he had heard what had happened. Primal had commandeered a jury-rigged stasis pod, flown into orbit and kamikazed into an alien super-weapon, destroying it at the cost of his own life. As far as deaths went, Dinobot had to admit that it was a fairly spectacular way to perish. It had made him acutely aware of his own mortality, to say the least. Gears were turning in Dinobot's head and he felt it was time to make some bold moves. But first, he had a matter to settle.

Just the night before, the Maximals had held a memorial service for Optimus Primal. Although not sentimental by nature, Dinobot had felt it his duty to attend and honor his fallen commander. But he had felt the ceremony was wholly inadequate. Rattrap spent most of the time trying to bait him and being a general irritant. Rhinox seemed more preoccupied than usual, which was understandable, but he had barely spoken a word. Tigatron had conducted the brief proceedings, speaking succinctly about Primal's more…_Maximal_ proclivities. "Spirit of an explorer" this and "Hunter of peace" that. It made Dinobot want to retch.

Airazor had noticed his unease and asked if he wanted to say something, but Dinobot decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this case, particularly after noting Rhinox's furrowed brow and obvious agitation. Instead, he turned and left, ignoring Cheetor's disappointed stare and Rattrap's gouda-eating grin.

Explorer? Scholar? _Peacemaker? _Optimus Primal had been a _warrior_, above all else, one of the few Dinobot had respected over the course of his life! He felt that this warrior had not been properly honored by his peers. And Dinobot sought to rectify this grave injustice.

The next morning, he journeyed out beyond Maximal territory, towards a nearby mountain range. He chose a large stone, carved it as carefully as he could, and lodged it in a relatively firm patch of earth. Dinobot engraved Optimus Primal's name on it in basic Cybertronix, along with the current stellar-cycle.

He considered gathering and leaving a bundle of some of the nearby plant life. But Dinobot hesitated upon recalling what had happened the last time he had done so, during Primal's recovery from Scorponok's viral mine. Rattrap had mocked him for WEEKS after hearing about that. Dinobot hadn't understood what was so amusing. He recalled that the deliverance of some kind of flora during one's convalescence was a fleshling tradition and one Primal would certainly appreciate. So what was so funny? Dinobot had simply dismissed the rodent's reaction as mere ignorance of history. Still, he decided not to risk it this time, on the off chance that Rattrap would happen upon this monument in the future.

All was in readiness, so Dinobot raised his sword and began his personal salute to his departed commander.

"Leader, hero…warrior. I honor you. May your courageous spark find Silicon Valhalla and may it rest in glory…and in peace for all eternity."

Dinobot remained with his head bowed for several cycles more, then turned to begin the trip home, his sense of duty satisfied.

* * *

Two days later, Dinobot returned to the stone monument he had so carefully constructed. With a frustrated snarl, he destroyed it with a single flash of emerald from his optics.

"_Fffah! _I should have expected no less from someone named "Optimus"!"

Dinobot stalked away, muttering to himself.


	20. Endure

"Endure"

**Continuity- **Probably post G1 cartoon.

* * *

"Surrender?" Galvatron spat, as if the word itself was malignant. "SURRENDER!"

"Lord Galvatron…we have no choice at this point," Flatline responded, trying his best to remain tactful. "Half our forces left with either Scorponok or Razorclaw, and the other half are dying of starvation. There is simply not enough energy left to sustain all of us!"

"Runamuck died yesterday," Runabout growled, making no effort to hide his malice. "I was transferrin' as much of my own reserve as I could to keep him stable, but his frame just couldn't last any longer without pure Energon."

Galvatron narrowed his optics, taking in the group that stood before him. Flatline, Runabout, Sinnertwin, and Sunstorm. He suddenly laughed, his previously-volatile mood forgotten. "Weakling."

Runabout visibly shook with rage as Galvatron stood off his throne, and walked towards them, flanked by Cyclonus and Scourge. Both of Galvatron's lieutenants bore unreadable expressions and gave no notion of condemning or condoning the proceedings, save for the Targetmaster weapons clutched in their metal fingers.

"Even these cowards behind me," Galvatron dismissively nudged his head back toward Cyclonus and Scourge. "With their reliance on fleshlings for firepower, evidence more pride and bearing than you pathetic lot."

"Please, Galvatron, listen to reason…" Flatline begged as the Decepticon leader walked straight up to him. Galvatron leaned in, as if to share a secret with the medic.

"Here is my answer," Galvatron spoke with a surprising calmness. Flatline's optics widened as Galvatron's left hand suddenly speared forward and shot clean through his torso. He looked down, then up into Galvatron's cold gaze, then felt nothing more as the Decepticon leader ripped the sparkcore out of his chest with frightening ease.

"N- !" Sinnertwin started as he jerked forward, only to be immediately halted by a shot from Galvatron's arm-mounted particle cannon that obliterated his head.

Galvatron let Flatline's limp body pitch backwards and it hit the ground at the same time as Sinnertwin's headless one. Sunstorm skipped a few paces away and raised his rifles, but Runabout threw himself into Galvatron, trying to get his hands around a throat. Galvatron beat him to it.

"You killed Runamuck! You let him DIE!" Runabout screamed, dangling from Galvatron's grip.

"I did," Galvatron agreed. "Join him."

Galvatron aligned his particle cannon with Runabout's chest and fired. The Battlecharger's midsection vanished and the rest of his body was flung away, limbs shooting off like errant, misshapen missiles. Galvatron turned as gunfire impacted lightly on his frame.

"You must die here. This is the will of Primus, this is the will of-" Sunstorm babbled, his rifles overheating as he fired continuously into the now-advancing Galvatron. His next utterance was cut short as Galvatron clamped a hand over his mouth and dug the other hand into the Seeker's cranium.

"The foolish die. The weak die. And above all else…_traitors die!_" Galvatron twisted, and Sunstorm's skull splintered and exploded like a grenade.

Galvatron shoved Sunstorm's remains to the ground and looked to the ceiling for a moment, the oil-lust leaving him.

"Lord Galvatron, was that necessary?" Cyclonus asked.

Without turning to him, Galvatron sneered. "Of course it was, you fool."

"They weren't wrong, you know. Soon there will not even be enough Energon to refuel ourselves." Scourge added.

"Do not validate these traitors, Scourge," Galvatron hissed. "This is but a trial all Decepticons must endure to further our greatness. And we _will_ endure it. I will _make _them endure it."

"History will not be kind to you, my Lord," Cyclonus stated, with something that approached sadness in his voice.

"History is MINE to mold, Cyclonus. Don't be absurd."


End file.
